The Complications of Emotions
by Still Waters
Summary: A life changing moment for Agent Maria Hill
1. Chapter 1

_AN: That little voice that tells me stories has been nagging me again. Clearly, I'm a fan of Maria Hill. When I first considered writing and Avenger fanfic, the plan was for it to be Hill/Coulson. I didn't like the way it was going, so I put it away and started with a clean page and found a Hill/Fury story pouring out (Risks). I decided I liked it, it got some decent reviews, so I figured I'd focus on that. Then, I read a really sweet Hill/Rogers story and the voice in my head came up with a story for them (Evening Stroll). I wrote that, kind of thinking it would be a one shot, but then it got some very positive feedback and I found some more ideas for this duo in the depths of my mind. I figured I can handle two stories, right? Then, real life threw some curveballs and I found that writing wasn't a priority any more. No ideas, no desire. Things stabilized, and both started to come back. The Hill/Coulson idea started bugging me again, so I wrote a one shot for them, more focused on friendship (Agent for Sale) and went back to my other two stories. But that wasn't good enough for the story-telling voice. It keeps telling me I can handle three stories. I decided to make a deal with it. I would write the first part of this, a prologue of sorts, and see what readers think. So, here it is. _

The Complications of Emotions

It's just not fair.

Some people are always breaking the rules, doing whatever they want and always getting away with it. Tony Stark, for example. He has never met a rule he didn't want to break, or at least bend. And Fury. He's probably bent more rules than he's followed. Not only do they not pay the price, they usually come out smelling like roses.

Me? I always follow the rules.

Everyone knows that Agent Maria Hill is strictly 'by the book' where the rules are concerned.

Okay, maybe not 'always' or I wouldn't be in this situation, but at least 95 percent of the time. I follow orders, obey the rules. I should get a pass when I don't, right?

I've heard people talking. They say that I need to relax a little, go with the flow a little more.

Well, I did. I followed my feelings. Allowed my emotions to dictate my actions. And guess where that got me?

Sitting in my bathroom glaring at a little plastic stick that I just peed on.

My glare has a bit of a reputation around here. They say it can make a person forget about even thinking about doing the wrong thing. It's even been referred to as a deadly weapon. I figure as long as I keep glaring, that second blue line won't dare show itself.

Maybe, just maybe, I will get a pass this time.

Stress can really effect your body, right? Throw off your cycles.

And there has certainly been plenty of stress in my life these last few weeks.

I mean, really? Think about it.

A mythological being leading an army of alien bugs in an attempt to take over the planet.

The man I love being murdered by said mythological being.

The city being virtually destroyed by said mythological being and alien bug army.

A team, and I use that term very loosely, of super human beings stepping in to save the day and rescue us all. Fury considers using them to be a calculated risk and one worth taking. I'm not so sure. Do we really want to be dependent of such a small, powerful group to rescue us?

While I will admit things worked out this time, I can't help but wonder about next time.

Because there will be a next time. We are aware of many threats waiting out there that the general public knows nothing about. What really scares me is the ones that even we don't know about.

What if Fury's 'Avengers' can't handle it or worse, if they turn on us? We need to be prepared to handle things on our own. As humans.

Then there's everything that happened after the battle.

The clean up.

The meetings and interrogations.

The blame game.

Funerals and good-byes.

Phil.

Stressful, right?

And I really haven't been eating or sleeping very well. That can really mess up your body, too, can't it?"

I suddenly realize that my eyes have drifted closed as I thought. I send up a brief prayer as I slowly open one, then the other, fearfully glancing at the stick clutched in my hand.

'Damn.'

Sure enough, while my eyes were closed, a second blue line had appeared.

I really hate blue lines.

I grab for the directions. Maybe I read them wrong.

Okay.

Deep breath.

'One circle, one square,' I read.

Check.

'Circle is the control. A blue line here indicates the test is working.'

Circle, blue line: Check.

'Square is the result. A blue line here indicates that the test has detected the pregnancy hormone. No line indicates the hormone is not present in detectable levels.'

I let my gaze wander back to the stupid little plastic stick.

Stupid blue line is still there. If anything, it looks even darker and bluer than before.

'Probably defective,' I tell myself. 'I'll stop at the store and pick up another one tomorrow.'

My eyes land on the bathroom counter where four other used tests sit.

Four other positive tests.

I sigh in resignation.

Another test would be a waste of money and time.

Nagging exhaustion, random bouts of nausea when I don't eat, two missed periods and four positive pregnancy tests leave me with only one possible conclusion.

Pregnant.

This is a complication that I certainly don't need in my life.

I could get rid of it and no one would ever have to know.

Tentatively, I rest a hand on my still flat belly.

"Now for the big question," I whisper softly. "Who's your daddy?"

The end?

_So, what's your verdict? Do you want this to continue or do I leave this as a one shot? It's fate is in your hands. Reviews positive and negative gratefully accepted. _

_Hope to have another chaper of Stroll up this weekend. Maybe another part of Risks, too, if I get really motivated._


	2. Chapter 2

**I guess you liked this story line, (big smile) so I will continue. Thank you all so much for the positive feedback.**

**Nom de Plume: thank you. glad to have caught your interest**

**Lupin Fan 1: looks like I will be continuing. glad you've interested**

**CokeZeroAddict: thank you. daddy identity to come. eventually**

**none: Phil alive? and daddy? guess you'll just have to keep reading**

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**All For Jesus: continued **

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**Sorry I've been so long getting this out. I decided to try writing this in the first person and am having to figure some things out in the way of exposition, but hopefully it's working. Thank you all so much for your comments, likes and follows. Now, on with the tale.**

Complications of Emotions 2

Must admit it was hardly love at first sight when Phil and I met for the first time. In fact, the first time I met him, I thought he was pretty unremarkable and unmemorable.

I was in juvvie at the time.

See, I wasn't always such a stickler for following the rules.

I actually spent quite a bit of time in juvvie. Especially in the winter. Those Chicago winters are brutal, so it was better than the streets then and either one was certainly better than home with dear old drunken daddy who liked to crawl into my bed to stay warm.

This was a different facility than I had been in before and I found the warden, guy by the name of Warren, to be a little creepy.

He watched me.

Even when I couldn't see him, I could feel him.

I figured I knew why. After all, I had plenty of exposure to that with dad and his buddies. They used to watch me, too.

One night after lights out, one of the matrons came to get me. As we walked to his office, I realized I had to make my decision.

I could put up a fight. Even though he was big and strong, I could probably do some damage. But I'd probably end up hurt and he'd still get what he wanted.

Or I could just let him. Hopefully he wasn't one of those guys who got off hurting inflicting pain and I'd be no worse off than I was now. Who knows? He might even be a little nicer to me.

I still wasn't sure when the matron ushered me into his office and closed the door. He was leaning against his desk, watching me again, as I settled into the chair in front of him. I met his stare, waiting for him to make his move and still trying to figure out how I would respond.

Finally, he stood, motioning towards the man standing in the shadows by the barred window.

"Maria Hill. Phil Coulson."

Then, he just walked out, leaving us alone.

I turned my stare. The streets and the facility both were ripe with stories about kids just disappearing and about the sex slave trade. I wondered what fate and this Phil Coulson had in store for me.

Ordinary.

That was my first impression. He was average build. Average height, average weight. Medium brown hair, starting to recede just a bit. Brown eyes.

Standard dark suit with standard tie and white shirt.

He smiled at me. A very ordinary, unremarkable smile.

But then I noticed it.

Just a brief flash of something in his eyes.

Something extraordinary and more than a little frightening.

Then, it was gone, and Mr. Bland was back. Could I have imagined it?

I decided to speak, since it appeared that he wouldn't.

"So, Phil Coulson," I asked. "What can I do for you?"

He pulled out the chair and seated himself behind the desk. "Warren seems to think we can help each other," he told me. "He used to work with me and now he keeps his eyes open for people with special talents or characteristics who might fit certain needs within the organization I work for. He seems to think you might do just that, Maria."

I pondered that, wondering what he could possibly mean by that. I certainly didn't have any special skills to draw anyone's attention.

"You're very smart," he commented, glancing into the thick file folder on the desk in front of him.

My record.

"Right," I agreed. "That's why I've failed every single test they've ever given me."

He continued looking at the papers. "Yes, you have. With a perfect zero on each and every one. Do you have any idea what the odds against that are? Hand a monkey a pencil and he's likely to accidentally get at least a few right every once in a while."

I shrugged. I could have told him the exact odds, but I figured he would take that as proof of his statement. I did seem to understand numbers better than most people, but no one needed to know about that.

"Then, there's HOW you failed. Every test paper had a pattern. Your answers would all be off by the same degree. Multiple choice tests, you would always choose the one right before or right after the correct one."

Damn. Didn't think anyone would notice that. That was part of the game.

I stayed casual. "So Warren thinks I'm smart. Which I'm not, by the way. Lot's of people are smart. That's not enough to make you and your 'organization' want me."

He got up and walked to the window again, turning his back to me.

"Describe me," he commanded.

"Average build, about 5'8". Brown hair, slightly receding. Brown eyes, two of them. Black dress shoes. Dark suit. Can't tell if it's navy or black in this light. White shirt. Dark gray tie with light blue stripes and a little yellow spot. Probably mustard or sauce of some kind you dripped."

He turned back towards me, quickly lifting his tie to examine it. With a soft curse, he rubbed at the light spot. "Thought I got that off."

Shaking his head, he let it drop. "What else?"

I watched for a moment, debating whether I should say it. 'Why not?' I thought.

"You can be a very dangerous man, Phil Coulson."

His eyebrows rose. Think I may have surprised him. Might as well keep pushing.

"Government?" I asked. "Some kind of 'top secret' thing?"

I thought I detected a slight smile as he moved back to sit behind the desk. "Why do you say that?"

"Wild guess," I told him.

"Pegging me as a white slaver would have been a wild guess, too," he commented.

Studying him for a moment, I finally nodded. "Yeah, it would have been. But it just doesn't fit." I pondered, trying to figure out what had led me to that conclusion.

"You blend in well. There's nothing about you that really stands out, Phil. Most people probably wouldn't be able to describe you very well once you walked away. At the same time, there's something about you that makes people trust you."

After a moment's consideration, I met his eyes. "Guess those are some of your special talents that your organization hired you for."

He continued to watch me, neither confirming or denying.

"But there was something in your eyes," I went on. "Just a tiny flash. Just for a moment. Something very dangerous, but honorable."

He leaned back, his smile broadening. "And Warren also told me that you notice things that other people don't. You pick up on the details and nuances that other people consider insignificant if they even notice them at all."

I rolled my eyes at that. It was what I'd had to do to survive.

"Extremely extra super top secret," he finally said.

Oh.

He opened my file again, turning to the first page.

"One other item that makes you very attractive to us, Maria," he told me. "No contacts listed, no visitors during any of your times in any of the facilities." He looked up. "Times, by the way, that I notice coincided with the times the weather turned really nasty."

I shrugged off the last part of his comment, focusing on the first. "No one to stir up trouble by asking those bothersome questions if I turn up raped and murdered and floating in the Chicago river," I acknowledged. "So, what's the offer?"

"We can make this," he tapped my folder, "go away."

"It goes away anyway when I turn 18," I reminded him.

"Not for people who know where to look." He leaned forward. "What happens when you turn 18 Maria? You haven't finished school."

"Yeah, I have," I interrupted. At his look, I continued. "I'm not going back, so I'm finished."

"I'm offering you a fresh start and the tools to do something with it. We train you, test you. See if you really can be a part of our organization."

"And if I can't?" I had to ask, because I usually failed.

"Then you've finished your education, maybe have a degree in a field you can use. We can set you up wherever you want. Nest egg, no past, confidentiality agreement, and you can live out your life."

I usually failed at anything I tried, but...

"And what if it does work out?"

He grinned conspiratorially. "You have a career suited to you and experiences beyond anything you could ever imagine in your wildest dreams. And, you get to learn what SHIELD stands for."

"SHIELD?"

"Extremely extra super top secret," he reminds me. "For employees only."

You know, his smile is actually pretty nice. I found myself really wanting to trust him.

Which was odd.

I don't think I've ever trusted anyone before. Ever.

Oh, well. It's not like I'm risking some sort of promising future. I know what my chances are on the streets in the long term.

I held out my hand. "You've got yourself a deal, Phil Coulson."

He stood, taking my hand in his. "Good choice, Maria Hill. You need to pack your things and say your goodbyes before we head out?"

"Nope." I didn't have to think about it. "Nothing and nobody." All the things I had here were the property of the facility.

He came around the desk and reached to open the door, then turned to me.

"Oh, Maria. One more thing. If you do turn up floating in the river, I'll be kicking butts and asking questions."

He smiled again. A really nice smile, in fact, I decided.

You know, maybe there was a little something there that first meeting.

A little something that grew.

'Just like this little something will,' I think, rubbing my stomach.

Phil's? or...

**Good place to stop? or was that a little mean?**

**Hope you enjoyed this. As always, please let me know. Your reviews feed my imagination and encourage my creativity. Now. What to work on next?**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm very sorry that this has taken so long to post. My other two stories have just been flowing really well and this one has needed a little more focus. I've finally got the next chapter ready, though, and I hope you find it worth the wait.**

**Sandy-wmd: I thought it was a pretty good place to end ;-) Glad you like this backstory.**

**All For Jesus: Could be...or not...you'll just have to stay with it to find out. Glad you like their meeting.**

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**Guest 11/26: Thank you. I do remember a time of wanting to grow up to be a secret agent.**

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**Also thanks for favorites and follows. I'm glad to get the positive comments on the background and meeting I'm developing here. I was trying to come up with something possibly different than has been done. I'm appreciate knowing you like it.**

**Now, to the tale**

Complications 3

Phil was right. Turns out, the SHEILD development program was a really good fit for me. They had rules that actually made sense and the structure that I craved.

In some ways, it wasn't that different from the facilities I had spent time in. We had classes, uniforms, assigned rooms. Like the facilities, everything I had was SHIELD issue, right down to my white, cotton briefs.

In other ways, it was very different. I had a private room. That was the first time in my life I ever had privacy. In juvenile, I was always in a dorm. At the apartment, dad had taken the door off my room so that he and his buddies could watch whatever I did.

The classes I took were actually interesting. I mean, how could you not love classes called 'Weaponless Self-Defense and Offense or 100+ Ways to Kill with Your Body?' Then there were the weapons training classes. 'Using Your Gun to Frighten, Disable, Kill Quickly/Painlessly, or Slowly/Painfully and Knowing When To do Which.'

Much more interesting than 'Science 101' or 'Humanities 2', right?

And I had a computer. And an e-mail address. Primarily, it was for school work. Sending messages to teachers or to classmates.

But then, I got an e-mail.

The first time one popped up, I figured it was a mistake or a joke. The other kids in the program didn't seem to like me very much, which was fine with me. I thought they were a bunch of immature jerks.

I debated whether I should even open it or if I should just send it to the junk mail folder.

Finally, I opened it.

It was from Phil.

He just wanted to see how I was doing. Said that he had been hearing good things about my progress from the program staff.

It's a little scary how good it made me feel. I'd had shrinks and social workers before who had asked me how I was doing, but this time, I felt like the person asking really cared about the answer.

Really cared about me.

Weird, huh? I had met the guy once.

It became a sort of regular thing. Neither one of us really wrote much. He'd tell me about some funny something he had seen and I'd tell him about an assignment I was working on or some irritating something one of my classmates had done.

Some of them were my guesses.

'Super Heroes Investigating Environmental Loading Docks?'

'No.'

'Stratospherically High Individuals Exposing Lady Doctors?'

'No.'

'Stupid Headed Idiots Eating Lizard Dung?'

'Who pissed you off now?'

But I found myself looking forward to his e-mails. Even just the ones that said, "Still alive. You?"

Then, one night, there was a knock at my door. I figured it was Todd Ryan. The guy had been trying to get in my pants since I got there. As often as I told him I wasn't interested, he wouldn't leave me alone.

At least, not until I broke his arm. He told everyone that he fell out of a tree, but I think everyone knew what really happened. I got called into Director Fury's office. He told me that he was giving me a lecture on proper conflict resolution. Then, he just stared at me for a couple of minutes, then told me to get back to my room. I kind of thought I heard him laugh after the door closed behind me.

Anyway, this was months before that. I opened the door, an angry comment ready, only to find Phil standing there, slight smile in place. I returned the smile, inviting him in. He refused, inviting me to join him in the common room instead.

I guess he needed to think about his reputation.

He bought me a soda and a candy bar while we talked about what was going on. He asked me my opinions on the program and on the others in it.

I told him that I felt I was really benefiting from the program.

As for the others?

I considered for a few moments, then finally confessed. "I'm not particularly impressed with any of them, but then, since I don't really know what...Strangely Helpful Individuals Experiencing Lovely Dreams..."

He shook his head.

"Does," I continued, "I can't really tell you how well anyone would work for your organization."

He continued to look at me.

"I mean, if you're looking for brute force, there are a couple of the guys that have muscle, but not much else going for them. Jake has a really good mind for scientific things, but is pretty much hopeless when it comes to common sense sort of things. If you need diplomats, Kara has pretty good peace keeping skills, but needs to be a little more forceful. Sandra..." I thought hard, unable to imagine what the spacy, consistently under dressed red-head could be useful for. "I suppose if you needed someone to stand around in her underwear, maybe as a distraction, she could probably do that."

"Interesting assessments," he said.

"So," I asked, "I guess you're checking up on everyone? Seeing how all of your potential new employees are doing?" I figured there was no way he was just there to see me.

He shrugged. "Actually, I had several things I needed to check out here on base and you were one of them. I was curious to see how you're doing. This developmental program is fairly new and I've never had much to do with it."

"You didn't bring the others in?" I asked.

"No. We bring new people in through several avenues. Mostly military or law enforcement of some kind, some from prisons. As I said, this part, bringing in minors for assessment and training, is pretty new."

"Just teens or do you have younger kids, too?" I asked, curious.

His face darkened. "You're the youngest. There has been discussion about starting with younger children, even infants, but there are still enough people in the command structure that find that an unacceptable option. There are other programs in other countries that we've been made aware of. The Soviets have one that starts with very young girls. Uses very nasty methods to turn them into killing machines. I'm hoping we can someday bring that down."

"So you just take on a bunch of juvenile delinquents?" I asked.

He grinned. "As I said, we have a number of former agents in various fields who let us know when they find someone 'special' and the director sends someone out to assess their suitability for the program. It could be a doctor, a teacher, a social worker, or even a parent. Most of those referred to us are never brought in. But when Warren called, we took it seriously."

I looked at him questioningly.

"Warren was know for being something of a perfectionist. He was considered 'hard to work with' by most people, because he had very high standards for himself and for those he worked with. When he called that he had someone for us to look at, Fury took him very seriously."

I considered a few moments. "So you brought me here. The thing is, I was only confined to juvenile for 6 months this time. What happens when that time is up? Did I just disappear? What if my father comes looking for me?" The question had been on my mind for some time. "I don't think that he will, but he did have certain...uses...for me."

Phil's eyes flashed that scary, dangerous look again. "That's been taken care of," he assured me. "I had a talk with him. His parental rights have been terminated. He won't be bothering you any more."

I processed that information. "Does that mean you're my guardian now?"

A laugh rumbled from his chest. "Nope. That would be Director Fury," he told me.

Fury.

I had heard the name, but didn't think I had ever met him.

Though, I had seen someone watching.

"Big black man?" I asked. "Always dressed in black? Patch over one eye?"

"That would be him," Phil confirmed. "You've met him?"

"No, but I've seen him. He just looks like a 'Fury' to me."

He laughed again. "I suppose he does."

Suddenly, he handed me a bag he had been carrying. "Almost forgot. This is for you."

When he saw my confuses expression, he explained. "It's a gift."

I sighed, saddened. I thought he was different. "So do you want to go to my room now, or do you have a place or something around here."

Now, he was the one confused. After staring at me for a moment, a light suddenly dawned and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. "No, Maria. It's a gift. No strings attached, nothing expected in return. Certainly not that."

"I'm sorry," I said, dropping my gaze to avoid the anger in his.

He reached out to lift my chin, stopping just before he made contact. Instead, he spoke my name softly.

When I looked up at him, he smiled. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I'm not angry at you and I don't want you to think for a moment that I am. I'm angry that no one has ever given you something without expecting something in return. I'm angry that you don't know that making you happy is a good enough reason for someone to give you something."

I nodded, still not completely understanding, but wanting to make him happy.

"Are you going to see what I got you?" he asked, his eyes glittering with excitement.

It was contagious and I felt myself getting excited as I reached into the bag. First, there were several books. I touched to covers almost reverently. I loved books, but had never been allowed to have any other than my textbooks. At school, I would hide in the library, gorging myself on anything I could get my hands on.

There was a biography of Amelia Earhart and another of Winston Churchill as well as a couple of novels. "Modesty Blaise?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Trust me, you'll love her," he told me.

"And these are mine to keep?" I asked, not quite believing.

"All yours," he confirmed. "Maybe while I'm in town, I'll take you to the used book store, let you pick out a few of your own choice."

"These are perfect," I told him, hugging them to my chest.

"There's something else in the bag," he told me. When I hesitated, he held out his hands. "I'll hold your books while you look."

I handed them over, a little embarrassed at how possessive I had already become of them. Reaching into the bag again, my fingers encountered soft cloth and I pulled it out.

It was a bright, red, white and blue Captain America t-shirt.

"He's one of my heroes," Phil explained. And he immediately became one of mine as well.

I was still a bit confused, though. I looked over at Phil.

"Why?"

He shrugged, looking away from me for a moment, then coming back to meet my gaze.

"The next time someone asks you if you need to get your stuff, I want you to be able to say 'yes'."

The books are still on my bookshelf, along with many others I have acquired since, and the t-shirt has faded a bit, but I still wear it often. I glance down. In fact, I'm wearing it now. I pull on the front, stretching it. I wonder if I'll still be able to wear it in a few months.

My pondering is interrupted by a light tap on the bathroom door.

"Mommy? Are you okay?"

**That seems like a good stopping point. What did you think? Hopefully, it won't be so long before the next update. As always, reviews and reviewers adored!**


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